Quadratic Formulae
by Lyrical Logic
Summary: In which McCoy is not brave for a very long time and everyone else suffers for it. K/S, K/Mc, Mc/U, S/U, K/U/Mc/S.
1. Chapter 1

Quadratic Formulae

Disclaimer- I own nothing mentioned in this story. Except some emotions but my therapist disputes that.

Notes- So. This is probably the best piece of writing I've ever done outside of class. It's also the last thing I'll probably ever publish here. Definitely for this fandom. So long fella's, thanks for those fish. Oh, and I'll move everything I like on here over to my LJ plus other stuff before I dead this account.

WARNINGS- Some serious depression here, I mean serious dark, sad feelings man. If you wanted fluffy well, why are you here? I'm incapable of writing fluffy.

-oOo-

In which McCoy is not brave for a very long time and everyone else pays for it.

-oOo-

**Part I**

**In Which Many Things are Known Without the Benefit of Learning Them. **

-oOo-

"My whipped ice dairy drink brings the attention of many males to my place of residence and/or employment, and they declare that its quality far surpasses that of yours. Absolutely, it far surpasses yours. I could convey to you the recipe, but I would have to demand compensation."

And that, ladies and gentleman, kicks of his premature mid-life crisis

Funnily enough, it only took two years in space.

Uhura leans toward him, face curious and eyebrows worried, "I think he's drunk"

McCoy looks at her like she's half-demented and lacking fingernails, "No. Really?" he swings his tricorder over Spock again. And again. And again. Rinse, wash, repeat another 18 times.

Goddammit he's _still _drunk

And grabby, that's the third time the bastard has gone for the balls. He tries, for the third time, to hold on to Spocks arm long enough to check his pulse and for the third time Spock manages to twist the movement so they're holding hands instead. In the end, Spock's in a sitting position looking pointedly somewhere between his and Uhura's pelvises and muttering quadratic formulae to himself. He doesn't really wanna think about why he's looking _right at their crotches _because then he'd have to think about that savage floppy feeling in his stomach and the warm roll of human heat next to him.

"Hey, don't get snappy with me. I brought him straight here when I found him, something _someone else _felt disinclined to do."

And over there is Jim, sitting on a bed munching an apple and looking for all the world like a man who just got everything he ever wanted. Dear Lord he hates that expression, it usually means he's smashed someone's face in, had sex with their tentacle endowed significant other or done both of the above at almost the same time and now has a really weird scratchy feeling from where said boyfriend used_ his_ tentacles in a much less pleasant manner. In short, it means something really uncomfortable is about to happen.

"Meh, the sex is hotter when he's drunk."

So. Predictable.

Uhura doesn't think that's funny, neither does McCoy. He wouldn't mind Jim saying that shit about anyone else, shouldn't even mind that he's saying it about Spock-and-Uhura but, thing is, he's not bullshitting.

They probably were getting nasty.

And he'll rot in hell before he feels sorry for Uhura because the woman has never needed sympathy before and her over-inflated sense of pride says she won't now. He can't bring himself to feel sorry for Spock because, hell, the most gorgeous people on the ship are giving him orgasms and what does _he _have? His hand, that's what.

The day he feels sorry for Jim he'll lop off his own hands and retire to a bungalow on New Vulcan to look after the haughtily superior and emotionally distant.

Willingly

_Happily _even.

He pats Uhuras shoulder in a motion of commiseration and turns to let this trio of sick, sick, people sort out their own problems. Problems he has nothing to do with personally, nothing at all. Problems he doesn't find lurking behind every empty bottle and the bright eyes of an eight year old. Yeah, he might mutter under his breath as he sits at his own lonely desk, they're sick but not the kind of sick he can fix. This ain't an aliment of the body so much as the heart and no matter how much alcohol burns down your throat you can't forget what's _really _going down.

How maudlin of him

Christ, he needs a drink.

-oOo-

See, he and Jim? They were going places.

Well, more like repeatedly going in and out of places with lubricant, but whatever.

But then the Narada happened and suddenly Jim's on the bridge and McCoy's in Sickbay and there's only so many imaginary ailments Jim can have before it becomes ridiculous. It gets harder and harder and harder to find any alone time long enough to start anything and eventually McCoy just can't be stuffed. If Jim wants to run around and screw the Vulcan (which he says they're not, but they have to be. They have to be because that same half guilty look Jocelyn had is in the quirk of his lips. The tip of his tongue) he doesn't care because it's not like they were explicit. Or even together really. It was just a game, pretending right?

Goddamn, he can't even convince himself

Alright, let's pretend for a moment that he gave more of a damn then Jim thinks he did. Maybe he _believed _in this not-a-relationship relationship. Maybe wanted some exclusive rights to something, anything, with Jim.

What the hell kind of good could come from that?

Him and Jim, they were tiny little pop-crackles in your mouth, startling but not unexpected. They're something that almost fits together, something you can pour the quick fix into the cracks and leave to dry. They're something easily broken, hard to keep, simple to lose. Something sharp and brittle he'll taste for the rest of his life.

Jim and Spock however...

Christ, if it wasn't so sickeningly perfect he'd be jealous down to the marrow in his bones. He's not jealous though, if only for the fact that his bones are all he has left and he'd hate to lose them to _Jim and Spock _of all people. And it's not some cultivated disdain for happiness that has him so wound up. He likes happiness, likes waving as it passes on by. It's that they just upped and put a wrecking ball though everything he spent so long working on.

Fact is, he spent five years working at Jim to get him to open up and all Spock had to do was say 'That's illogical, Captain' and Jim was tripping all over himself to talk about his dead budgies. It's that McCoy's spent five years making sure the kid believes in him, trusts him, occasionally thinks he's something more than a good fuck and a source of alcohol. Spock took all the integrity he's spent five years working on and burnt it straight to hell. He _somehow _managed to achieve in a little under nine months what it took him years to do, that selfish, unfeeling _robot _of a man-

No, no, that's unfair.

Spock feels, unfortunately, far too much. And if it weren't for the spectacular failure of their first ever conversation ('I just marooned your BF+B on some shitty ice planet, I hope you're not hung up on it, let's be friends mmkay?' 'FUCK YOU!') they'd be hell of a lot further on in the friendship process. Maybe they could stay in the same room without medical intervention (not his obviously, he'd just poison the bastard and move on). Or maybe they should just skip it, like Jim skips the opening paragraph on most of his reports. McCoy understands few things about Spock, but what he does know is important. McCoy understands his trauma, understands the sheer _depth _of what that man feels and maybe sometimes shares some alcohol fuelled rants about the dumbshit things Jim does. They share this stupid deep connection and he hates it because he likes having someone else who'll listen to him.

In a fundamental way he and Spock understand each other.

Doesn't mean he wants him to have Jim.

-oOo-

"So then it was like 'KABOOM' and I was like, 'FUCK YEA!' and Spock was like, 'OMFG THE ILLOGIC' and Uhura was- hey, hey what's up?"

It's beta shift and he's drunk out of his mind and feeling really damn sorry for himself. Jim, the asshole, is just sitting there looking really fucking pretty and bringing out the worst in him. The floor-fucking, animalistic worst of him. He's never wanted to be _that guy _the one with the sick dirty thoughts in his head, he wanted Jim to trust him, dammit, not think of him like he thinks of Frank.

"Nothing, dickwad, listening to you wank about yourself is plenty entertaining. Really, I'm _riveted,_" he says into the fold of his elbow. He leans his head up long enough to take a gulp of bourbon. It dribbles down his chin and onto his lap. He doesn't care, he and decorum parted ways a long time ago.

"Well," and Jim's hand is wandering across his neck and down the back of his shirt, "we can make it more interesting can't we?"

Every time Jim's hand moves there is a stabbing pain from across his chest, it wraps around his heart and squeezes it till it feels like he's having a panic attack. Maybe he is. Maybe this is what it felt like for Jocelyn the first time. Maybe she never felt anything at all.

How can you cheat on a man who's already having an affair with another man?

Does that even make sense?

"Fuck, Bones, what's wrong?"

McCoy looks at Jim's eyes and feels that animalistic urge in his gut again, he tempers it down with words like _caring _and _trust. _Spits them around in his head more when a voice says back _Spock never had to work for this. _He closes his eyes and wonders why he gets drunk if all it does is make him more morbid.

"Nothing's wrong Jim, nothing's wrong"

And if everything can count as nothing, he's not lying.

-oOo-

His idea of breaking up hasn't matured since the divorce.

He simply walks in one day, packs up whatever of his stuff that Jim has and leaves a note with- _Sorry, be happy- _written in taunting cursive.

-oOo-

Jim's is to turn up drunk and wide eyed in the middle of his off shift and breathe _why? _Over and over again til McCoy gives up and sets him up on his bed. The infirmary was probably getting lonely anyway.

-oOo-

This didn't start three months ago on a backwater planet in the middle of nowhere.

But as he walks into Spocks incensed room, doing its best not to smell of sex he's had or is going to have, he thinks it didn't help either.

-oOo-

Perhaps if he wasn't so egocentric he would've seen the other victim in this Fairytale of Soulmates and Second Bests.

Nyota Uhura

She's sitting at his desk puffy eyed, a worried Chapel cooing to her and a cup of chamomile tea in her strong hands.

"Did you know?" she says and arches an eyebrow, he can't look at it, if he does he'll throw up. He knows she missed their coffee date yesterday to talk to Spock, knows that Spock was less than decently attired when said talk occurred.

"About-" he starts, hoping this isn't going the way he thinks. He picks up a box of vials and decides that he might as well be useful while he listens to yet another 'Confessions of a Broken Heart' he puts them on a tray and walks over to a cabinet, Uhura moves to a nearby table and sits ramrod straight. Jesus, is _that _what sleeping with a Vulcan does to you?

(Can't be, because Jim is still the lazy shit he always was

And well, McCoy's posture has always been perfect)

Ah, shit, her eyes are tightening, cues for anger if he's ever seen it, "-them fucking" At least she's angry, that's something he can work with.

"Yeah, I did."

"Didn't you ever want to stop them?"

_Every moment_, "Yeah, yeah I did"

"And, why not?" because he thinks Jim deserves better and once he stops being so hung up on it, he'll accept that maybe Spock _is _the better of this situation. More than that though, more than anything, there is this-

He's a coward

"I'm cowardly like that." He turns away and starts filing medicines; hands shaking a little over the vials, he tells them to stop because these are surgeons' hands and they _will not shake. _Three purple, one blue, six green, desperately needs more green-

"Leonard"

Two red- must restock- fifteen yellow, twelve clear-

"Leonard"

Three purple- didn't he already do that?- nineteen pink-

"_Leonard"_

A pair of arms wrap around his waist and pull him backwards, his hands stumble and a pink vial falls to the ground. Eighteen pink, he'll have to order another batch now.

"Yeah?"

He expects something a little mouthy like 'is that all you can say?' or 'are you ignoring me 'cause that isn't nice' but seems to forget the key fact that this isn't Jim and hasn't been for awhile.

"Will you sleep with me?"

And maybe it's because she's fundamentally kind and warm but he says-

"Yes"

-and hopes he might get that back for awhile.

-oOo-

Somewhere he thinks he may have started to fall in love with her. This isn't surprising, he falls in love with pretty, shiny things every other week. They have coffee all the time, she laughs when he gets mopey and she's gorgeous in ways he's never even thought of.

Perhaps while he's been breaking orbit with Jim, she's been a dancing celestial object with Spock that occasionally wonders about him and what they could make together.

That thought is the one that gets him through the night.

-oOo-

That and god, will someone just _want him back_ already?

-oOo-

Sex with Nyota ends up being like a pair of new shoes. Exhilarating, gorgeous and full of excitement and wonder. It lets him keep his walls closed and his heart up. It means he doesn't have to trust her not to let him fall down because he knows her, knows she won't. It's easier than he thought it would be, much easier than it was with men. Less intimate, less faith had in a persons ability to remember not to push too hard or fast. He can be gentle with her when he can't be with anyone else.

In a strange, sick way, Nyota ends up being the best thing to ever happen to him.

-oOo-

She wakes him up the next morning with a yawn and a cup of coffee, half dressed and looking really, really pretty. He's lying ass down against the wall in her regulation single bed, taking up most of the space. He does his best not to gawk at her (it was unanimously decided a while back that Nyota is easily the most beautiful person on the ship, perhaps universe) and fails spectacularly.

She smiles, and makes him sit up against the wall so she can tuck the blankets around both of them, "Neither of us is on shift for awhile. Coffee? It's a sweet blend, you might like it." she hands him his mug and shifts her own in her hands. He knows she knows that he likes his first coffee really damn sweet and every one after that less so. Wonders when this woman who he knows, has coffee with every now and then, thought of him as something she could possibly spend the night with.

"So, is this gonna be awkward?" he makes no move to do anything but sip his coffee and she wraps a warm arm around his naked waist.

Naked. Jesus Christ.

"Nope," she says and leans on him, "as long as we keep it on the down low."

That is...shocking actually. He really did expect this to be a one time, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am-here's-a-cuppa-for-your-troubles. He hasn't been in this sort of a position in a little under a decade.

"You wanna keep going?" he sounds surprised to his own ears, let alone what a woman trained in voice nuances can hear. To her immense unending credit, she chuckles lightly and squeezes his side before answering.

"Why not? I like company and you need some." She stands up and flings the blanket over his head, white smile glinting, "we'll discuss it over dinner tonight."

"We...will?" suspicious thoughts of abandonment and _yeah right, she's gorgeous _float around his head between the soft satisfaction of sleeping with another person.

Nyota rolls her eyes and steps into one long black boot, "You're not exactly fast on the uptake are you?"

"I'm sitting in your bed in my birthday suit, don't expect brilliance." His answer is automatic, regulated for a pedantic Jim and irritated Spock. That should say something about him.

"You know, sometimes I wonder who broke your trust in humanity."

She leaves and his face is still probably stuck on surprised indignation.

-oOo-

Dinner goes well, as does the rest of the night.

It's the next morning that gets complicated.

He finds, yet again, someone at his desk.

There's gotta be some sort of regulation against everyone and their grandmother taking up residence in his office.

He has a cup of coffee and a PADD in his hand, one brief whiff and he knows who's invading his personal space, "Mornin' Spock. To what do I owe the sudden spike in blood pressure?"

Spock is lightly fingering a picture of Joanna, his fingers tighten on the frame, "Doctor, you seem...well..."

McCoy nods and puts his PADD down, "Yeah, is there a reason you're darkening my doorway this fine morning?" he picks up another perched on a stack of books containing a list of new diseases. Yeah, _that's _what space needs, _more _disease.

Disease and darkness, his two favouritethings.

Spock gets that crazy, I'm about to say something that will fuck with your head tone, "Yes. Tell me, how did you sleep?"

Uh...with your ex-girlfriend? Can he _say _that?

"Just peachy"

And up goes the eyebrow, like he can see inside his head. Augh, don't think about that.

Spock's eyes go to his equivalent of angry, "As a man who advocates fairness and honesty at every opportunity, even when neither is a viable or logical solution, did you expect us to not have this conversation?"

Yes. What can he say? He's a sucker for blind hope.

He rubs his head and outs down the PADD, "You know, I never expected it to turn out like this."

"No, I cannot imagine any of us did." Spock stands in a motion like water and takes one step forward. He can feel the heat radiating from a metre away.

McCoy takes a half step into the room, "It was three months ago and you wanna talk now?"

"It seems prudent."

"It seems prudent _after _I do your girlfriend?"

Eyebrow, "Leonard." Spock lowers his voice and McCoy finally brings himself to darken the veiwer that lets him see into the sickbay. Now he really is stuck having this conversation.

He tries to deflect it anyway, unexpected irritation tends to drive Spock away faster than anything, "I'm still not sorry."

"I did not expect you to be, what I _expect _is compliance to the few rules set." Fuck him for not playing along.

McCoy assumes a defensive position by crossing his arms and cocking a hip, "_Rules, _the same goddamn _rules _you've completely ignored with Jim."

"It is a different situation."

Yeah, it's _different _alright, but not different enough to negate the fact that they were before all of this, and for that reason it's not different at all, "The hell it is. Tell me one _damn reason _it's different_."_

"We are -" and suddenly a huge overwhelming noise is swelling over him, like rainbows and twittering birds and he was so fucking right about them being _perfect. _Perfect like he's never managed despite working _so damn hard _for it. Perfect like a completing circle.

He did, in fact, expect this conversation, this long, long, long, overdue conversation about duty and honour and commitment and he expected to be angry and hurt and two seconds away from running and sinking his heart into a bottle of denial but this...this is just...it's so unfair, and yeah he knows life is unfair he fucking preaches it, but a break must be had sometime. Jim's fought for everything he has and in so many ways so has Spock and they're perfect and they deserve...better...then he could ever offer.

And in the face of that how can he be anything but a coward?

"Of course you are. Wow, that's, wow. You told Nyota yet?" he can't have this conversation, not _now._

Spock sits and assumes something like contemplation, "Yes, we also came to an agreement."

McCoy smiles triumphant for the simple fact that he's just glimpsed an end to this conversation, "Damn, how does it feel to be the little woman of a big ship?"

"I am not. That title would belong to you if must belong to anyone."

Silence

Si-lence

What in the world did he _see _in that hobgoblin?

McCoy grinds his teeth, "Pretty sure one night a month doesn't count." He unfolds his arm and picks up another PADD, transfers at the next starbase have a few allergies.

"Not to you."

Those aren't his hands shaking

"Why are you here?" and are you aware, doctor, that you're whispering?

"Why do you shield yourself so strongly?" and do you know, bastard, that I hate you right now?

"Because I-"

And anything Spock would've said is cut off by the arrival of the man who started all this shit.

Jim swaggers in with a bottle in hand ('well done on role modelling Jim, carrying around a bottle of whiskey is totally going to stop the crew from _unprofessional alcoholism_' ) and stops in the doorway, "Hey what are you two...oh, still like that huh? Call me when you're done." And leaves.

"He _knows?_" and god, if that isn't the damn icing on the cake. Jim knows, hah, Jim has known for a long time judging by that look Spock has. Well, fuck them. Fuck them straight to hell.

"Leon-"

"_Get out!"_

_No. _No, he is not _listening _anymore. He is so, so sick of people lying to him about things. Of assuming that people won't just up and go at the first sign of trouble. Well, fuck them, trust and friendship are pretty much equal to a quick blowjob now and then apparently. An occasional drink. Maybe a quick rub down between Klingon firing squads.

He must be projecting pretty strongly for Spock to actually look _bothered _by it, "Please list-"

"Don't you think you've done enough?" And are you aware you are screaming?

Spock stands and walks toward him, he pauses by McCoys ear and whispers, "No, no, I do not."

And leaves.

McCoy sits down and realises that maybe he needs to sort this all out. Get some counselling. Get some head shrinking.

Or, well, Jim left the bottle.

-oOo-

Sex with Spock is too hard and too fast and too intimate. It's laying down your soul and pride for inspection. It's opening up and feeling in places too dark to contemplate. It's knowing that your mind is twined around someone else's that won't let go. The thing is, he can't let go of his walls, can't be what the man needs. Doesn't think he's good enough to be even a _fifth_ of what the man needs.

He hates that so he tries to forget.

-oOo-

**Part II**

**In Which Issues are Raised and Then Ignored.**

-oOo-

You know you're smashed when the very taste of alcohol on your tongue makes you wanna retch.

Unfortunately, with years and years of killing his liver, not only has he bypassed that reaction he's robbed his body of any sort of limit at all. The only warning he has before he's on the floor is a twirling feeling in his lower abdomen. That could just be the replicator food he had earlier though. The feeling is the start of a panic attack, like the ones he had when he was younger in locked rooms with blue doors. It claws at everything he is, a low monster in his belly that stretches out and eats up everything he offers it. His pain, his sadness, his joy, his anger. It sucks and sucks and sucks till it's all gone.

So that's here, now, him lying next to his vomit and wondering which deity hates him this week. He folds his hands across his chest and sighs, one long drawn out breath flowing into a half choke. His eyes close and he breathes low and deep until he calms down. He's a doctor, he knows how to come down from one of these. His fingers, and he loves these fingers more than anything, rub his temples. Small circles that should help but end up hurting more because he can remember other people with their fingers there. Helping him. And he shouldn't feel this alone, hell, _alone, _is a state of mind he's called his own for going on a lifetime now but he does. So...alone

Whatever

He turns over on the non-puke side and drags himself to a wall. Looks at his fingers still blurred by bourbon and remembers why he never got drunk on his own.

It's dangerous to be this far gone.

Somewhere between stretching his fingers and pulling off his puke-stained shirt he falls asleep. The next shift comes with two bleeps and a bloop and he opens his eyes and pulls up his pants by the loopholes. He forgets, because he's still kinda drunk, that Nyota will arrive in exactly two minutes for breakfast and forgets that no one should know he's this broken.

"Oh god, are you okay?"

'_No, but thank you pretty voice, I'll pull myself together soon enough. I'mma a doctor you know.'_

"Yeah, I know"

The voice is all nice and warm and soft and safe. It's meant to get better with age not worse. Where exactly did he go wrong? When did he get _old?_

"You're not old."

He is very old, much older than he should be. Good thing too, ship full of egotistic children with martyr complexes needs someone with their head outta their ass.

"We're not that bad."

_You _aren't, pretty voice, everyone else needs to stick a hand up there and _pull_.

Laughter

Pause

"So, what happened between you and Spock?"

What didn't happen would be a better question.

They got stuck on an island together on shore leave a few months back. Horrible, aliens tortured Spock for a week and he couldn't do _anything. _Nothing. Sat on his ass and listened to him scream. At the end of the week they said only the person with the most claim could come gather the pieces.

Turns out they'd had a long dormant..._thing _between them. He thinks he saw it coming, was always a sucker for bright pretty things.

So he had the most...connection...but what if Jim had been there? What about Jim, it was always about him anyway-

"Focus"

So he fixed Spock, because that's what he does, he fixes people. Fixed everything he could and then tried to fix what he couldn't. Minds and feelings are not...he can barely stop himself from going a little too far with the bottle some days how would he handle someone else? And it's not fair to ask him to, he should get some fairness now and then.

"Shh, it's okay, what happene-"

Emotionally comprised, that's what he said the day after...that. Said he was sorry and it was just some stupid instinct that had him reaching out. That it was uncontrollable and a _burden. _He wonders some days what makes wanting him such a burden to other people.

"It's not. We don't all think that."

Yes you do, something happens once and it's an anomaly, twice is a coincidence, three times is a fucking fact.

Whatever

Tomorrow we'll have to be better, he'll _make _it better.

"You're not alone"

Ain't that the goddamn truth. Tip to all who care- telepathic bonds _suck._

"He-"

Yep, bonds, they suck _awfully. _He can hear his thoughts over and over and over in his head all methodical and flowing. It's funny, he never thought he'd ever want to be alone. But it's his _mind. _Last damn place he has left most days and even that's ebbing. It would be okay, if you know, someone _wanted _him back. Which, actually, does leave him pretty alone. So even when there is someone in his head he's stuck alone and unwanted.

"Well...what do you say to that?"

Dunno, something pithy and sarcastic, think the shit the brass says but with more balls.

Laughter again

It's so...nice...give him that soft laugh on repeat and he'll be in love in a week.

-oOo-

He overestimates himself by about three days

-oOo-

He does dream about three months ago.

Dreams about the screaming and his inability to help and how useless he is. He dreams of stitching Spock up by hand because they don't have dermal regenerators. He remembers thick crusts of blood on his knuckles. He remembers Lt Bransson having a heart attack at thirty two from the trauma. He remembers Ensign Sanders dying on his lap from an allergic reaction. He remembers so much and he's grateful because it means he didn't dream it.

What he doesn't dream about, what he remembers only in the middle of the night is the feel of Spocks heart under his fingers and the litany of _'' _in his head.

But he'll wake up, he'll be alone and he'll roll over and pretend all of him came back from it.

-oOo-

No one expects the Jim Kirk inquisition

Well, except McCoy, but that's exposure more than anything.

Jim is –aw hell, does _everyone _have his pass code? Does he have to move offices?- sitting _on _his desk and chomping on an old style mars bar.

"Mornin' old man. How's the rheumatism?" Jim ditches the bar and smiles. Way too pretty for a guy, fuck, really?

"Creaky, you?" he barely has time to look down and busy himself with something before Jim's walking towards him, smile cocked and ready. For a few minutes it's like they're just friends talking. Jim says something smartass-y and he reminds Jim that he's still the fastest rejoinder in...space...

Because this is a ship, in space, and he's alone with Jim.

His back is in the doorway so it takes a few moments for the automatic door to shut. The second his door is shut the smile snaps off Jim's face.

"What are you doing with Uhura?" from friend to Captain in 0.03 seconds flat.

Well...thats, complicated to say the least, "Sleeping mostly, whatchya doing with Spocko?"

"Fucking mostly," he pauses between a breathless smile and a realisation, "I don't wanna fight about this."

McCoy shrugs, he doesn't think he could put up a fight if he wanted to. Being a coward and all, "I ain't fighting. Strikes me that this is a win-win, I get a maybe-relationship and you get your mystical bonding shit."

Jim sighs, and rolls his shoulders, see, the weird thing is, that either means he's about to smash the universes expectations or he's really, really nervous. Neither strike him as a brilliant option, "It's not that simple. Spock tried to tell you-"

McCoy cuts him off, "Because me and him talk _so well _together."

"Bones, please, I know about 3 months ago and I don't care."

Oh fuck, was that meant to be his _supportive _tone?

"Tough titties, did it ever occur to you that maybe I _do? _I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life, Jim. Stuck in _two relationships _were I'm not equal. Again. I don't want to leave either of you, as friends or...I don't wanna leave but I need something, someone to help me. _I need help, _Jim. Do you have any idea how hard it is for _me _to say that?"

"We can help you."

"I know both of you well enough now to call 'bullshit' when I see it." He pauses and levels a soft glare at Jim, "I have never met two people less qualified to help me. Ever."

Then there is the mother of awkward silences

It goes on and on and on and McCoy vaguely wonders if there's a karmic timer counting down.

Chapel, oh, beautiful, wonderful, fantastic Chapel sticks her head in and says that it's time to start the first round of physicals.

Thank you Starfleet bureaucracy.

McCoy slaps his hands together and picks up some equipment, "Well Jim, it's been deep and real."

Jim, the dick, steps in front of him when he bends to pick up a PADD, "We need to talk"

"Probably. Not right now."

And he's walking out the door

"Soon. Really soon. _Please _Bones."

And Jim is apparently willing to take this outside. And use puppy eyes.

Crap, "Yeah, tomorrow gamma shift." Wait, what? He is so _whipped _for that kid.

Fucked. He is F-U-C-K-E-D.

-oOo-

Sex with Jim is like a comfy armchair. Soft when you know all the creases, hard when it starts falling apart. It's like what Jocelyn used to be before the end. Before she walked away and he walked out. It's waking up in the morning and knowing everything will be fine. That it won't be strained or awkward because you know each other too well. It's knowing that he'll still be the same old asshole he was the night before.

It's warm and warming and absolutely terrifying.

-oOo-

**Interlude**

**6 Messages That Were Absolutely, Truthfully Never Sent, Received, Read and Deleted.**

-oOo-

_-Beep_

_Hi Daddy, guess what I got? It's amazing I bet you'll love it. If you come by next time your home I can show you. Can't wait. It's been ages since we went fishing or to the movies. Mommy says what you're doing is important and I shouldn't ask but you should tell me anyway. I like hearing about you. There's this boy in my class and he put stuff in my hair and Ms Bulberry said it was wrong to punch him but _I _said that my daddy was a hero who probably beat up bad guys who put stuff places-_

_-Beep_

_Oi, Leo, you need to drop by next time you're earthside, gotta divvy up the estates and stuff. Just remember not to mention that shit you think is a job, people are still real tetchy since you broke up with Joss. Bad idea that, we were real disappointed when you made Jo one of _those _kids-_

_-Beep_

_Len, it's me. Man up and talk to Jo, she doesn't deserve this shit._

_-Beep_

_Okay, so, what I don't get is we were good together right? And then you just, just walk the fuck out on me after freakin' years saying I want something different without even asking me shit. You're the one who said we should avoid being a couple and you never even complained till recently so what the fuck? Is this your mid-life crisis? Because you should count me out for the divorced wife role. You have one of those already or did you- shit, I'm sorry-just, fuck, will you just-_

_Goddamit will you just _talk _to me? _

_-Beep_

_Mr McCoy, this is Mr Reilly, the late Mr McCoy's lawyer. If we could set up a meeting to talk about the extenuating circumstances surrounding his death, particularly your involvement in the well, less than brilliant method of-_

_-Beep _

_Hi Daddy, I snuck over to Aunty Lou's place to send you something._

_I just, I wanted to say I love you and please come visit, I miss you. _

-oOo-

"So, I'm still sleeping with Spock."

He spits out his food.

"What?" Manners. He has manners.

She examines a piece of pasta and then pops it in her mouth, "Yep, we have a bond." She says between bites. Like it's the most natural thing in the world- 'I have a doctor's appointment', 'we need cat food', 'I'm sleeping with my ex-boyfriend.'

McCoy takes a moment to feel violently ill, "Isn't Jim his special squishy toy?"

"Coming from you?"

He grunts, "It wasn't my choice."

It really wasn't. Spock had needed somewhere to house his mind and he happened to be convenient. Convenience is a story that threads through a lot of his relationships.

Nyota's thinking a little bit happier, "Wasn't exactly mine either. Compelling wasn't it."

"We aren't talking about this."

He puts down his fork and prepares to leave. He can't handle this anymore. Surely there's somewhere he can go that won't remind him of everything he'll never have. Every_one_ he'll never have. As much as he is, admittedly, in deep I'd-die-for-you love with Nyota (and he falls _fast _people. Married Jocelyn inside three months. Loved her in a week) he'll probably be still carrying giant flaming batons for the Kock club for years. It's just how his stupid heart works.

"Yes we are." Nyota tilts her head meaningfully and, being raised to fear and respect all female kind, he goes right back to eating.

Damn stubborn woman.

"No we aren't."

"Yes, yes we are, listen to your communications officer."

He points his fork at her, "I'm already talking to Jim during gamma."

As if that'll solve anything

"Yes, but Kirk can't see it from your side. I can."

True

"More than that, you need to stop repressing." She waves a hand at his face and he swallows his bite with some difficulty.

"Which one of us has the psych degree?"

"Which one of us is _trained _to read body signals_?_"

Fuck, he really can't win today.

"Well, what do you want?"

He hears-

"For you to trust me enough to tell me something sober."

But when he asks her to repeat it-

"I'm sure you'll figure it out."

She picks up her plate and drops a kiss on his forehead.

"What the hell?"

Laughter

"I'll see you after alpha shift."

-oOo-

He has other nightmares. Worse than the week on that goddamn hole. They're humid and damp and taste like childhood disappointment. Like dirt funerals and the slant of his father's disapproving mouth. It's graduation where he had to pause his internship after Jo was born, it's calling his mother only to find out that the funeral was last week and no one bothered to say anything, it's his brothers sneering face on the anniversary of their sisters death.

He's never sure which are worse- the tangible nightmares cemented with blood and sex or the imagined ones ingrained with time and crusted over with expectation.

-oOo-

The bottle. It _taunts. _

Contrary to popular belief he is not a _regular _drunk. In fact, seldom is a better word for it. Since Starfleet it's been harder to be a functioning alcoholic. Second the brass hear you're over 0.02 they whip your ass so hard you might as well drop out. Strange that they don't have the same policy for other inhibiting substances. Not that he does those, too unsanitary, but he knows people who do.

Like the guy in front of him

He's some nameless red shirt from engineering without a lick of a sense. He's high on some stupid alien spore that seems to like resisting all his attempts to exterminate it.

"Shut up, it's not my fault you bought some stupid liver eating aphrodisiac for your significant _whatever._"

"His name is-"

"-completely irrelevant. You'll live; just don't take whatever it was you took last time. Not if you ever wanna get it up again."

"Yes sir, sorry sir."

"Yeah, I bet you are."

Mr Lil-Wagon rolls his ass out and McCoy sits down to fill out the obligatory fifty pieces of paper work. Time flies when you're trying to avoid alcoholism and soon it's the ass end of Beta again and Jim is dragging his sorry ass through his doorway.

"So," McCoy looks for the bottle of alcohol, he figures it's the least they could do, and finds nothing but tea. Fuck, tea, he used to like the stuff til Spock came with his crazy and ruined it.

Jim looks at the dissatisfaction on his face and chuckles. Bastard. He's not allowed a pretty chuckle. Spock stands (fluidly) and hands him a cup (elegantly) and sits down at a table they've pushed into the middle of the room (fucking perfectly, fuck him). Jim floats over with a big ol' smile that lights something at the base of his spine and gently kisses (with his lips, when he's standing _right there_) Spock on the side of his face. He used to think, when they did that thing in public, that Jim would be surprised to know that he could do that to. Knew all the same spots. But that's all kinda moot now that he knows that Jim knows.

"How have you been since we last met, Doctor." Spock begins like he's asking for the time. McCoy sits down at the table in the seat across

"You mean yesterday, at the board meeting? Which both of you attended?" he sips his tea and Jim settles next to Spock, hand in hand.

Sickening

McCoy glances for a half a second too long and feels a familiar monster swell in his chest. It's not jealousy, jealousy is a pure mix of love and hate and what he feels is so much more...tainted than that. He tries and fails to compartmentalize exactly the fucked up emotion he's feeling.

Fuck

"You wanted to say something?"

"All in good time"

Right.

"So, how was your day?"

This is just way too domestic. _'How was your day?'_ I spent it trying not to drown in a bottle, thanks for asking. Not like you care, what with the special bonding and the fucking sunshine carebears. Now I'm stuck having the last conversation anyone ever wants to have fucking sober.

"You are thinking too much," Spock sighs and rubs a temple; Jim pats his hand.

Oh _lord, _who did he maim in a past life?

"So we, ah, wanted to start off slow but-" Jim says and holds out an expressive appendage.

McCoy rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, a hip cock is not far away, chair be damned, "Dear lord, just dump my ass and move on already, the suspense is killin-"

"I assure you, it is not the 'suspense' that is killing you."

Ah, Spock say what?

But then the conversation continues and they're talking about the next shore leave.

For a moment his curiosity gets the better of his common sense and he drops those telepathic shields he spent so long learning how to do. Figures he can do anything Spock can with this two-way connection thing. Not like the guy ever tells him anything.

Spock's eyes go impossibly wide, "You've lowered your shields." He says, skipping over all the helpful things like explanations, "I can see your mind quite clearly."

Jim goes all starry eyed, "Is this what being in your head is like?"

He just cannot win can he?

Dumped telepathically and humiliated all while stone cold sober. He wasn't sober when he left Jocelyn. That helped some. But this is bound to be twenty times harder, at least Jocelyn was slow, he saw it crumble, knew when she was going to join that long line of people who let him down. Never expected it from these two, mystical relationships be damned.

"We are not-"

"How can you think-"

They're even thinking in time now. That's _some _mojo they got there. See, he doesn't need 20 percent proof to be a morbid son of a bitch, he just needs to be clusterfucked emotionally. Good to know.

"Really. Just say what you need to and I'll be on my way."

Impatience settles on Spock for a few seconds before flying away again, he lets Jim go and folds his fingers together, "Very well, your emotional suppression and suicidal tendencies are negatively impacting the bond that has formed between the four of us causing severe telepathic and mental distress. If not soon rectified, I believe it will become terminal and possibly kill all four of us."

Maybe it's the lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of liver killing substance but to his immense shame he does something he's never done before.

He faints

-oOo-

Conscious is not a state he'd like to apply to himself right now

Unfortunately it's exactly the state he's in. Conscious, alert and mindfucked to the Delta and back.

"So because I'm depressed, suicidal and an alcoholic we're all gonna die? And- wait _four _of us? Who's the fourth-oh, _no, _you're-! Why the hell didn't she-! Better hope she don't see my operating table anytime soon. Words, we will have _words. _And _dying, _pretty sure I'm the only one who's close to unhealthy attached or in any immediate danger."

Jim waves his hands, "I know, sounds crazy, but it's true. We're all going to die because you have abandonment issues."

The _irony_

McCoy rubs his face, "That's...you're kidding..." _but what if they aren't? _What then, he's in yet another relationship where he's burdening people with his issues?

Time to head to New Vulcan to help the emotional distant and haughtily superior.

In his head he feels something bitter and angry laugh and say I told you so. Life is, as always, really unfair and he never will catch a break. Assess these emotions, compartmentalize, move on.

"No," Spocks voice is sharp, "No, do _not _repress what you feel."

"I ain't repressing." McCoy retorts, "I am _assessing._"

"You are denying that you feel angry."

"What good is anger? Loses me more than it gains." He leans back and lets his head hang. He can't be bothered being angry, can't be bothered feeling much of anything. Same as he did before Joss left, all empty and cold with something waiting inside to eat up all he has left and spit him somewhere unknown.

When he looks up, Jim looks guilty and Spock simply won't look.

Jim starts, "I really love you, you know."

On any other day, any other hour, he'd _love _to hear that. Punch line is, it's now and all it feels like is a slap across the face.

"So what do we do? Cut me loose and hope for the best?"

A bright sharp slash crosses his mind, vivid red and angry like all hell. Bright like he's never seen. Jim looks at Spock and McCoy follows his gaze. Spock is grinding his teeth and dragging his nails down the wood.

After he regains some measure of control he all but spits, "That would not be...no, never, not ever. I hope you understand because I would not appreciate having to reiterate, you, Leonard, are not leaving us ever. Not so long as we can help it."

You know what? He's going to think about the connotations of that later. Right now is for being angry, "Then what? I can't stop being...whatever, just because you say so."

"Yes, which is why we will help you through a guided meditation to find and alleviate your problems."

"I...see..."

Which means he doesn't. At all. Big fat nothing.

"Like a Native American vision quest" Jim supplies when it becomes obvious that he really, really doesn't get.

Like a vision quest. Right. Let's consider this.

No

"Nope." He says and tips back on his chair and looks at the ceiling.

"You will have to" Spock says in lieu of answer

"Not really, could just commit you all for insanity and call it a day. I can do that, perk of being CMO." He looks at the spot between Jim's and Spock's hands, "so just snip me off already."

You know, he really loves his magical ability to irritate Spock, "If we were to do that we would all die of psychic shock."

He leans back in his chair and squares both of them with a terribly unimpressed look, "This is a right royal mess you've made."

"Indeed"

"Indeed, huh," he turns the full force of his irritation on Spock and imagines graphically pinning him to a wall, with knives, "well, I don't fancy a stroll through my head just to confirm all the fucked up theory's I have about just about everything. Denial's been working just fine for me so far."

"This is not just your life."

"Then cut me off," he leans forward and clutches the side of his chair. Why don't they get it? All of this goes away if they leave him alone.

"No" Spock half growls.

"What is your problem? You spent 3 months using me and now that I've finally gotten over you- _both _of you, you're determined to force me back in."

"We didn't know." Jim whispers.

"'Course you didn't. You live in happy carebear land where people shit sunshine."

"That's not fair." This is Jim getting comfortable, ready for an argument. The next step is where he twists you around so you're wrong and bending over for him. The only way to win an argument is to bowl him over early with something he can't deny.

So-

"Is that only getting through to you now? Where was _fair _when I spent three years patching you up without so much as a thanks for the effort, where was fair when I spent hours listening to them pull him apart, where was _fair _when-"

_Beep_

That's the special line for Medical Emergencies

"Looks like times up." He stands and looks down. Anger, hurt, relief, something deeper. All sprayed across their faces.

"Leonard, please." Spock stands, "Leaving now will almost certainly harm us all irrevocably."

The bastard in him says to go and go and never look back. Never feel anything like this again. The doctor in him takes stock of his haunted eyes and the barely concealed pain behind them.

The scared little boy living in the centre of his soul asks him to please look a little harder and find a way to _fix this. _

In the end, all he is is one man with one mind and what feels like one choice.

He leaves.

-oOo-

**Part III**

**In Which Pandora's Box Opens and Some Things are Almost Learned**

-oOo-

Sex with Jocelyn was goddamn everything.

And if that wasn't the fastest way to ruin, what is?

-oOo-

The emergency was a bust.

Accidental trip wiring or some shit so he leaves Sickbay and returns to his room. He knows that he was meant to meet Nyota for dinner but finds that all he wants to do is crawl into a drunken ball and _sleep. _He crawls under his blankets and closes his eyes. Turns over. Turns over again.

Nothing

"Fuckin' _hell._"

He can't sleep

He flicks a hand around and knocks things off his night stand. A picture of Joanna smashes on the ground and he sits up to look at it. Her hairs crazy and she has his eyes.

Then the picture starts foaming.

"Sweet cracker of Jesus," he says and moves away from the picture as fast as he can. The foam catches on his bed and starts crawling up and towards him. Spreading bubbly thin tentacles in thin lines across the floor, his bed, his walls. It crawls and crawls until it's taking up one side of his room.

And then it starts exploding.

He jumps out of the way. Rolls to one side and quick as he can manage he runs out the door. He would've kept going through the corridors if it weren't for some strange ensign he's never seen before. He bowls her over and when he stands again, prepares to apologise-

'_No, this is beyond not funny.'_

"Dad?"

His last thought before his flight reflex kicks in is, -'_she looks like Jocelyn'_

Then the blood in his feet is his only concern.

-oOo-

"A vision quest, huh?"

After three hours of seeing his daughter in the face of every female on the ship, getting almost eaten on Deck 12 by a ghost, decked by a wagon of gnomes on Deck 5, tripped into a vat of sweet tea and sack tapped by what he's sure is his great grandmother while valiantly trying to hand himself over to security, he realises that perhaps Spock had more of a point than he was willing to admit. That, and apparently his mind is a really fucked up place.

He walks onto the bridge, hoping that that at least is the same.

Wrong

"No. This is just insane."

His room at the academy

With Jim

Naked Jim

On his bed

_From his room at the academy_

He turns to leave and finds that the turbolift he was on before is now a wall. He places his palms on said wall and pushes. It doesn't budge. Pushes harder. Nothing. Hits it. Even less happens. A low rumble from behind him.

Jim (naked Jim, who is naked, in his bed, naked) turns over and makes a vague gesture toward McCoy. McCoy looks at the gesture, feels that stupid belly monster and realises that there are no doors. No windows either. For the first time in a long time he's alone with a Jim who seems to want him. He should take this as it's offered. In the darkest part of his mind where no one can see him he can take this. Have this. But the wall, his palms still heavy on it, begins to give. If he lets go of it now, turns and walks toward Jim (who _wants _him) he could probably stay. Have everything he wanted.

He's not proud of this next bit

Jim, still there, lifts an eyebrow, next thing he's on him. Doing what they haven't in years, it's great, liberating even.

Then comes the complication.

"I love you, you know."

And McCoy, he doesn't believe it for a second.

"Then why Spock?"

Yes, why Spock?

"Because, destiny said we were-" and that deafening rush hits up twice pace. Drowning him.

And he wants to wake up now, before he gets ripped away.

Jim stops moving, "Don't do this Len."

Len?

That's what Joss called him.

"Don't you mean Bones?"

Bones

Jim

Bones

"Not hardly, Len"

Oh _hell, _this might just be his worst nightmare.

Jim-Joss, reaches a hand behind his back, palm flitting between tiny and strong. Fingers along his jaw tracing arching patterns he's never felt or felt a million times before he's not sure. Jim-Joss presses a tiny kiss to his mouth, their hand strays to the small of his back and fists. Tiny fingers, huge palm. Soft lips either way, ranging from little and grinning to full, pouty.

And then he bursts out crying

Because Jim-Joss shows no signs of letting up and there's a deeper ache there that he doesn't want to look at. He wants to sink away from it. Doesn't want to wake up and be alone. But Jim-Joss must hear this, suddenly their hands are clawing and they yell together-

"You can't leave us!"

Over and over again

He struggles and rips out a fistful of Jim-Joss' hair. It disintegrates on his fingers.

Suddenly, too sudden to be anything but some prince in dented armour, a giant bear-cat thing bursts into the room.

Yeah, this is getting really freaky now.

The bear thing turns and growls at Jim-Joss, bearing all its teeth. Jim-Joss screeches in return. The bear thing launches a paw at it and swipes a scratch across Jim-Joss' face. They fall down together after one last long look at him. Jim's bright blue eyes hurt and disappointed. Joss's green ones angry and resigned. McCoy looks at the stardust that was once an amalgamation of two people he's loved and left and wonders what lesson he was meant to learn from that. Then the bear thing turns and snorts at him, McCoy raises an eyebrow in return before realising that he's standing sans pants.

The bear thing does something like a smirk before walking away. McCoy follows it, what else does he have to do? The bear thing touches the wall and it shatters, leading to the corridor outside Sickbay where he's spent many hours standing and de-stressing after a bad surgery. He lets his hands touch the walls again, there's no giving, no pressure, it's a wall not a barrier to keep him here.

"Thanks, uh, whatever you are." He mumbles to the bear thing before sliding against the wall. Jim-Joss was meant to be a reflection of his abandonment issues, right? So what's the bear thing? A protector animal? He's never seen one before. A reflection of his inner soul? No, it's too big and brave for that.

The bear thing whines.

McCoy absently pats its head. It's really warm, leaning into the touch and pushing hard for more attention. He lets it work its way under his arm so they're -not that he'd ever let anyone know- cuddling.

He's cuddling a giant fanged bear in his head.

He should sign up for his jacket now.

He thinks he falls asleep here or maybe he falls awake, but in the next blink the bear thing is gone and there's a woman standing above him. He can't make out her features. There's a blinding light and the feel of wet heat and beauty.

"You sure know how to make a woman feel special."

Nyota

-oOo-

She does something (probably smiles, he can't tell, the light is too much) and all of a sudden he's standing and moving down the corridor with her.

"I don't know where we're going but it looks like you'll need help with this one."

On cue everything darkens and he realises exactly where he is.

"We can't go this way."

He pulls on Nyotas hand. She keeps walking, "It'll be fine."

It won't.

"Please Nyota, if you ever cared a damn about me we will not walk down there."

She looks at him, the light down tones, "What are you so scared of?"

Himself. Inevitable truths about his character. The long fall of rejection once someone else sees how broken down he is. Truthfully, he got over being lonely a long time ago, lonely growing up, lonely marriage, years and years of pining for the same people. Lonely is a tune he marches to, but _hope. _He can't stand _hope. _Wanting and being given opportunities he wastes. Failing and being forgiven. Fucking hell. If people gave up on him life would be so much easier.

The corridor shudders

"We're getting close now." Nyota says.

He still can't tell where things start and end with her. Can't tell what's the same about her and what's different from ever other woman he's given his heart to. Doesn't trust her much more, but that he trusts her at all is a miracle in and of itself.

"So what are you? My hidden mother complex?"

She laughs, "You have a good relationship with most of the woman in your life. If anything you have a father complex."

The walls almost inverse at that.

"Leonard," she whispers. From the shadows the bear thing appears, "what was that?"

He looks at the bear thing, it lifts an eyebrow. Nyota pats its head.

"This is a selhat. They're native to Vulcan and terribly vicious when threatened." The selhat gives him a dry, expectant look that says his lack of fore thought is morally offensive.

_Spock _

Well, now we're just waiting on Ji-

"So guys, how's it hanging?"

And that's Jimmy dearest.

McCoy stops moving and looks at Jim still covered in stardust, Nyota dressed in the light of everything and Spock beyond beautiful as this fierce brave creature and wonders what in the world they're doing here. Then the walls shake and he remembers. Seems they're winding down to something and if it isn't this then he wonders what it is at the bottom of his mind that's so damn traumatic.

"What's down here?" Jim asks, "Sounds angry."

Down here, he wants to say, is the reason we're all here in the first place. At the bottom of this corridor is a place he went three months ago and never came back from. Down there is a pain he's pushed as far away as he can.

A door appears to another bedroom he's had. It's blue like his shirt and has _Doctor Leonard _scrawled in red childish writing. There are long scratches on it from where he stuck his fingernails in and dragged on warm humid nights. This, at the bottom of his soul, is the reason his heart hurts.

Say hello to his childhood bedroom.

-oOo-

"Sweetie, Spock grounds you, Jim –shut up you great _infant _we're here for him not your overblown ego, I'm sorry, _Kirk _lifts you up and I hold you and make sure you don't go insane between these two. Hopefully you do the same back because I'm willing to get imaginative planning their deaths."

So, he uh, passed out again when he saw the door. He's kinda ashamed of that. Still not going through it. Spock is still growling, Jim is still glittering, Nyota has lost even more definition down here and the door is goddamn humming. He can feel his hands on his face and the tears on his fingers. For the record, he's not crying because he's scared, he's crying because he stubbed his toe. Yeah, and his grandma dances the polka.

Jim crouches down in front of him, spreading his shimmer everywhere, "In short, there's nothing in your mind that'll scare us off Bones."

"Don't say that too early"

He opens the door.

"Hello, I'm Leo, who are you?"

And comes face to face with himself

The child stands at a little under a metre. It wears fading pyjamas and it has trails of dirt and tears across its too tight skin. It has hollow eyes and a wide grin with too few teeth. The room matches the child in shades of blue and red. Single bed up against a wall, three teddy bears, a dresser and scratch marks across the falling paint.

He bends down to eye level and places a hand on the childs' shoulder. He notices the paleness, the nails chipped with paint and the sleepless eyes.

"I'm Leonard. These are my friends. It's okay, you don't have to worry."

The child looks from one face to another, stops for a moment longer on Spock, "But they're broken."

The fingers drip blue.

"No they aren't." He says quickly. He grabs the childs hands and feels the coldness of the blue slipping past.

The child shakes its head, "They have aching souls, I see it." It's eyes flicker to Spock again. Around him shadows leap and dance in strange patterns. They grow until they've consumed Spock's ankles. Tight blackness that begins to eat everything. The child's darkness contracts and Spock screams.

The child smiles.

McCoy turns the childs' eyes back to him, "But we can't fix that."

"Yes we can" the child pulls on the dark again, the screams get louder, "we take their emotions and we keep them with us."

"No"

The childs' eyes well up, sparking off little flashes of red in the room. He holds his hands and the hands contained within up. The child cries. Spock screams. So does Nyota.

"If they just stay-"

The scene changes. A wide open space from his childhood. The day of his sisters' funeral. The first time someone left him.

"We can't make anyone stay, kid. It's their choice."

He remembers crying and dirt under his nails and pinching the skin on his cheeks just to make sure the feeling was still there. He remembers his father sneering and telling him to butch up. He remembers feeling alone and useless. He remembers cold nights locked in with her. Away from their screaming parents. He remembers dying (_being left behind_) for the first time.

"But then they leave."

He remembers her grave.

"Yeah. Yeah, most do."

He remembers being alone.

"Will they?"

The rush of loneliness and the childs small voice breaks and McCoy sees Spock pale on the ground with Nyota and Jim merging around him. Stardust and sunshine.

"Most likely not, seem insistent on staying." He says, and drops the childs hand.

Wrong move

The child sweeps up a hand and its smile changes from something innocent to something feral. Suddenly the dark is twisting and growing tangible. Hands and feet and mouths and worlds of pain and anger and sadness. The child becomes the monster that feeds off the things he can't afford to let himself really feel. It takes the light and spins it on its head, pulling everything in to a warm sticky embrace.

"So we can fix them?"

It spreads its tiny fingers, face twisting from him to Joanna and back again; this is the agony he felt when Jo was born and he wasn't there, it adopts Joss's face, the resignation from him working another long week at the hospital. His mother, angry about the divorce. His brother, ashamed for the both of them. His father, dying from something he couldn't fix, screeching disappointment. The child flicks through all the faces of all the people he's never managed to keep happy.

But the child skips three faces-

Spock

Nyota

Jim

"No, we can...help."

And that's what has him reaching for the monster-child, low in his belly, wrapping it in his arms and giving it a taste of the acceptance it deserved. The child screams.

"Okay. We won't fix."

He lets go then, of the monsters and the heartache. And his heartache hugs back before letting go of him.

"You can go now."

-oOo-

"Okay, what the shit?"

Jim radiates puppy displeasure.

"Jim" Nyota says as a warning. She places a hand on Jims shoulder while she supports Spock. He's more _him _now. Angles and pretty flushed green. Nyotas shine sticks low to her skin and throws off little details he's never noticed. Jim still smiles like he's a light bulb made of diamonds. You know, except that Jims not smiling because he's so pissed.

Jim points a finger at McCoy, "No. No, why did your mind just try to terminate us?"

McCoy just sighs, sits down.

"Because he's scared you'll leave."

"We _won't._"

"I _know _that"

Then the silence turns awkward, and poignant and kinda meaningful. Mostly awkward though.

So, they've seen the worst of him. Has he done it? Won their approval and acceptance?

Or has he completely missed the point of the exercise?

McCoy feels his own unease triple. Spock looks unfathomable. He finds that attractive. Spock smiles. More attraction. He finds that it doesn't hurt anymore.

Spock smirks. Asshole.

Jim returns to normal non-stardust and throws an arm around Uhura. She frowns at him but doesn't protest the kiss he gives her. Nyota remains a little undefined. He can't pull the awestruck shine off her. Somehow, he doesn't think she'll mind the fact that his mind obviously adores her. They stand together and he sits and he doesn't really want to leave. No running. No hiding. Just this.

"Look, I think we're safe to wake up now. I'll see you on the waking side okay?"

Then he kicks them all out of his head and wonders how to do the same for himself. Something shiny in his peripheral. A tiny box his father gave him.

This might be a bad idea.

Oh look, a convenient glittery light coming from inside it. Will it wake him up?

This is probably a really horrible idea

He opens Pandora's Box anyway.

-oOo-

**Finale**

**Back Breaking Hills**

-oOo-

So he thought the light would wake him up. Figured he was done now that everyone had fully accepted him.

"Son,"

"Pa"

Of course he was wrong

"You figured it out yet?"

His father lies back in his chair. The epitome of intimidating, I-will-fuck-you-up, masculinity. Even when he's on his deathbed, tubes and IV's littering his skin.

"I need to let people accept me for who I am?"

His father snorts, "Wrong"

Like always, this man is incapable of letting him win. He has no idea why he tried so damn hard to save him. Not like he got a single bit of thanks or praise for it.

"Of course I am"

"None of that. Now I realise I wasn't the best dad-"

"You got that damn right"

His father –his minds warped and probably correct view of his father- looks at him with dying eyes. Dying, disappointed eyes.

"But I did teach ya' one thing and that's self respect."

He did _not _just say_-_

"Self respect! Your idea of self respect was telling me that I was useless and would die alone for years on end! Your idea of self respect was to whittle me down to my bones and leave me crying in dark rooms. You, you made me believe I was worthless every goddamn day of my life!"

There's screaming and wailing and his rage turns everything inside out, upside down and in reverse all at the same time. It feels great to say this. Better then sex. Something this complete asshole broke when he was small snaps back and the overwhelming need to be better and fix everything dissipates.

"You locked me in my room for days, didn't talk to me. Worse to my sister. I hate you so much I can't stand it."

"And?"

And he'll break him into itty bitty tiny pieces.

Except he won't, because then he'd be compelled to fix it.

And he's calm and not so goddamn angry

"I got no clue"

His father lifts a dying eyebrow, he hates that.

"So what are you gonna do?"

A chair. He sits down and it starts rising and falling. His mind changing from a death bed to a house on rolling green hills.

He and his father sit for a moment between now and infinity. Sweet sounds, smells and something that he might someday take for the affection he missed growing up.

"Whadaya mean?"

Bourbon. Strong. Reminds him of humid nights and paint chips. Being lonely.

"You gonna mope around or you gonna wake up and you know," was that a sexual innuendo?

Two glasses. Frosted.

"No pa, I'm not gonna wake up just to-"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't-"

"Deserve to be happy?"

"No, of course I deserve-"

"Then what, are you a still a coward-"

"I am not a goddamn coward-"

Glass shatters.

His father looks at him as he looks away. "Then what Leonard. What in the goddamn world are you so scared of?"

He knows this. He totally _knows _this.

"That I'll disappoint them like I did you."

His father doesn't say anything. He counts that as a win.

"You didn't disappoint me." His father says finally, after he's dead and gone and his son has ripped his own life to shreds out of guilt, "You didn't save my life, yeah, but you've saved thousands of others. Be a damn fool if I was disappointed in you for that."

"I-"

"You know what I am, Leonard. I'm the sense of acceptance you refuse to let your self have. I am the end to the guilt trip that ruined all your relationships. You walked out on Joss, you stopped seeing Jim, you won't give Spock what he needs, you refuse to trust Nyota. Your fear of abandonment is keeping you from everything that could make you happy."

The bourbon appears like knives into his skin.

"All you're heading for is a sad end at the bottom of bottle."

And he so didn't need that.

"Well fuck you very much for the pep talk."

His father sighs on that windy hill, shakes his head and laughs as his breath breaks. As McCoy blinks another person appears on his porch of broken dreams. His sister still buried in a paddock somewhere smiles behind his eyes. He misses her. He misses her magical ability to stop the loneliness. And Jo doesn't look like Joss, she looks like his sister, which is a million times worse and better at the same time.

"Wake up son and find something worth living for before you die. And you will. Drink too much one night, take some pills, no one finds you till the shift after your last. Why? Because you were a great bloody prick who destroyed everything he ever loved. Who won't look at his own damn daughter because he's a coward who can't own up to the fact that someone in this damn universe loves him unconditionally. Why? I don't fucking know. You're amazing and I was not disappointed in you for one moment. Sure I pushed you, but who doesn't push their children? I'm, I'm sorry son for not being better than I was, that's what you wanted to hear right? So for gods' sake will you just wake the fuck up?"

It's not enough, it's not a fucking apology but it's all he has. It has to be enough. He'll make it be enough.

-oOo-

Half an eternity later the rolling hills break and crumble, his father dies and his sister whispers an _I love you _before returning to the earth.

He breathes, he wakes up.

-oOo-

He wakes up with Jims hand fisted in his pants, Spocks drifting near his forehead and Nyota neatly tucked under an arm. When he moves it isn't far, just to the console on the other side of the room.

_Jo_

_I love you_

He presses send after attaching a photo of his sister. Dumps the bottle of alcohol in the recycler and crawls back under the mass of people on his bed.

Then he sleeps, no nightmares or belly monsters or cowards or amalgamations of nightmares passed and futures challenged. He sleeps and he wakes up with hands on his belly, a mouth on his neck and the steady sound of four heartbeats.

Yeah, it might just be enough.

-oOo-

THE END!

PLEASE BE THE END!

OH GOD I HATE YOU SO MUCH!

DIE YOU AMAZING PIECE OF LIFE STEALING TRASH!


	2. Chapter 2

So. I finally, sort of figured out LJ AND had thirty minutes of time together. This-

.com/

Is the account. New stuff probs from the end of next week onwards. Consider this an offical close of account for . I will fix shit on LJ once I care.


End file.
